“Get me a stiff drink, and we can ravel in the pun.” Emma mumbled. “Paradise
regained.”
CHAPTER65
Dare
By Alishia Duling
“All you have to do is wave from the window.” Pete “repeat” repeated.
“If it’s so simple, then you go do it.” I told him.
“I can’t, it’s your dare.” He reminded me.
I looked back down to the group of kids standing along the edge of the property, who stood awaiting my decision. Some of their faces seemed encouraging, but most reflected doubt. Coward; I could almost hear the words coming from their thoughts. I could not be a coward, no matter how much they were. Not one single, big talking, triple daring, yellow bellied punk down there had ever gone inside that house. Never! So why are you? I asked myself; because I am not a coward.
My size twos climbed the cracked concrete steps up towards the dilapidated old porch of the abandoned “haunted” house and followed through past its threshold. Not a single ounce of noise traveled up the steps behind me as my onlookers watched in awe and amazement. Stevie Buckket, I knew was the only one still holding on to “unimpressed.” The insides of this ramshackle emanated its pungent odor instantly. The mixture smelled of rotted wood, decay and perhaps death….
I did not dare look back at them; instead I steeled my mind and fears and entered the domain. I quickly scanned the room and found the stairs ahead to the left of me. I quickly, yet cautiously stepped over splintered flooring and the “Idon’tknowwhatthat is!” over to it and climbed. I climbed, focusing on the top above me. Every next step seemed endless and the top seemed to never grow near. Finally… finally! I reached the top and looked around myself. Which room is the right room? I tried to keep my calm and think. I wanted to get to my mark as quickly and straightly as I possibly could, so I could then quickly get out of here! They are behind you, so go to your right and find the closest room on your right. I told myself. So…I went right and opened the first door on my right. A tiny fraction of light peeked through the single window of the room; it had grown dark quickly. I rushed over to it and looked down. Pete “repeat” spotted me first and waved. The others looked up and almost every mouth dropped thereafter. My chest puffed up in victory as the rest of them waved frantically up at me. The door slammed behind me and I turned around.
CHAPTER 66
The Four Sixteen
By LJ Rutledge
Brad and Gwen Witherspoon had bundled themselves together on a rickety old bench outside the train depot. He was propped against their large suitcase and she was propped against his chest. They tried to nap while waiting in this town, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, for their train to pick them up at six the next morning. Until then, they dozed outside in the cool night air in a town with no motel.
Gwen was awakened by the sound of a whistle in the distance. She sat upright and looked at her cell phone to check the time. It was a few minutes past four in the morning.
“Brad, I hear a train whistle.” She shook her husband as she spoke.
“What?” He sat up and stretched his arms into the air, yawning loudly.
“A train is coming.” Gwen sounded insistent.
“I wouldn’t get on that train iffen I was you.” A scratchy voice sounded from the dark corner of the doorway.
Startled, Brad and Gwen both wrenched their heads to the left to spy an old man in disheveled clothing leaning against the wall. He looked as scruffy as his voice sounded.
Brad’s arm went around Gwen’s shoulder in a protective gesture. The vagrant laughed, coughing and sputtering as if infested with some terrible lung ailment.
“It ain’t me you ought be afeared of, young man. Don’t get tricked into gettin on that train. It ain’t time for your train, now is it?”
“Maybe the train is early. The guy at the window said ours would be the next train coming into the station.” Brad sounded defensive.
“Nope, the guy at the window don’t know nothin’ about the 4:16.” The old man went back to coughing, gagging as if he would hack up a lung.
The whistle sounded again, much closer this time. The young couple gathered their belongings and prepared to be picked up, happy to get away from this strange old codger who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.
The train pulled to a stop in front of the station. It looked antiquated to the pair, but they stood ready to board as soon as the doors opened. With a defiant glance over his shoulder, Brad placed his hand on the small of Gwen’s back, guiding her up the steps. As soon as they were inside the doors slammed shut. Making their way into the car, they were greeted with a carload of decayed corpses, all sitting upright like regular passengers.
CHAPTER 67
The Dare
By: Trista Herring Baughman and Natasha Morea
The night was crisp; a wave of goose bumps rose on Ian's chilled skin. A low fog had settled in. Cloaked in darkness, he slowly made his way to the cemetery. He hesitated at the wrought iron gate barring his way. It stood at the center of a high stone wall, battered with age. He briefly wondered if the wall had been made to keep people out—or to keep something in. He shivered at the thought. He reached a hand toward the gate. Locked. Placing his leg on the iron structure, he hoisted himself up, scaling it quickly.
Once inside, he took in his surroundings. The darkness seemed heavier, the fog more dense on this side of the wall. Squinting into the mist, he could barely make out the neat rows of gray headstones. Breath billowing before him, he started toward the plots.
Ian pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and scanned the graves as he moved, searching for the name. He turned his head at the snap of a twig. His pace quickened. Where is it? He moved hurriedly, eyes searching. Moonlight filtered through the fog, as he bent low over the graves and shined the light toward the stone. Yes! This is it. He moved the beam of light around, searching for the small row of gargoyle statues. Bingo. Now, to prove the legend was wrong. All he had to do was grab one of the statues and make it back over the gate alive. No problem.
As he swiped the statue, he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye and spun around, heart pounding. Nothing but fog and the night. For the first time he noticed the eerie silence—dead silence. You’re lettin’ this curse stuff get to you, man. Curses aren’t real. “Curses aren’t real,” he whispered aloud to himself, for reassurance. Then he began swiftly zigzagging his way back through the graves towards his victory.
As he neared the last few graves he heard a strange muffled sound. He stopped and looked around nervously. He went to move and felt a tug on his leg. A bony hand reached out of the grave, its fingers curled around Ian's ankle. Ian screamed and kicked free of the hand. All around him, hands and arms reached for the sky; reached for him. This can't be happening! He raced for the gate. As he approached it, figures began to take shape before him. Fingers pointed; voices echoed. “Guilty!”
CHAPTER 68
One Potato
By Adam Sifre
As long as you were dying and quiet, the guards didn't care what you did. This was that some of the inmates referred to as “the silver lining of Auschwitz.”
They were just two stick shadows in the dusk, standing in the small space between two barracks, sharing a rare moment of isolation in a place where the dead were stacked and burned like cordwood – and endless forest.
Samuel shook the hand holding the potato at Michael. Like all the others he was a skeleton, held together with dust and shit. “The only way you get this is if I shove it up your bony ass!” He regretted the outburst even as he shouted the words. This was not the place to raise one’s voice. Shouting always invited a bullet, so here the living were almost as silent as the dead. Here everyone practiced for the German ovens. Michael, Samuel’s twin in all but blood, recoiled slightly.
“Shut up,” he hissed. "You want to bring the whole camp in this?”
Samuel was too tired
to back down now. “I’d rather be shot than see your filthy Polish hands on this.” But the words were whispered, and Samuel cringed and held the potato close to his chest, his nervous eyes searching the shadows.
Michael took a small step forward. Still too far away to make a grab at the potato, it was more a gesture of intent. He was not backing down. They eyed each other, both breathing heavily, as if they’d already fought. On some level, both knew neither had the strength for even the smallest scrape. All the fight stayed in their eyes.
"Don't be stupid."
"Where did you get it?"
"It doesn't matter. There are no more to be had.” And after the briefest pause, “I’m sorry.”
Samuel kept clutching the potato to his chest, looking as if he intended to push it straight into his stomach. They could not stay out here alone. In a minute it would all be over, one way or the other. All he had to do was wait.
Then Michael started weeping, soft papery sobs robbed long ago of tears. Like everything else in the brave new world, it was muted by the strange physics of Auschwitz.
"Please."
"Fuck off."
"I have two children here."
One stick figure fell to its knees, and somehow diminished itself even further. Its head slowly sank to the ground, surrendering. Everything.
After a moment, the other stick figure walked away. Surrendering everything.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends